Pants!
Snowfall Basin -- Crown's Refuge ---- :Located in the north-western quarter of Crown's Refuge, the area known as Snowfall Basin is quite an impressive sight indeed. Delicately balancing nature with culture, Snowfall Basin maintains the Syladris population of the freehold by providing them with a large area that remains suited to needs that have only recently been discovered. :Set around the basin itself - a bowl-shaped cold water depression carved into the surface of the bluff that Crown's Refuge sits atop - it is unusual by just how much it differs from the Human residences just towards the east. Open-air pavilions and gazebos provide much of the structures that the Syladris call home, while leather tents scattered between these more permanent structures offer a more suitable means of privacy than the depths of the water should such things be required. :A number of deciduous and evergreen species of tree have been planted amidst the area, turning the "Syaldris Quarter" into one small forest around the large stretch of water. Some pavilions stand taller than others, indicative of status within the newly forged cultural identity that the Syladris are attempting to shape, though all that can be seen feature flowing couches and benches that serve to adequately support and provide comfort for such an unusual half-breed race when they're not otherwise coiled around an overhanging branch or lost beneath ripples of icy water. :A blanket of fallen leaves and short, lush grasses surround the basin and the various structures and statues that inhabit the area, all contained within a short marble wall that defines the perimeter of this large region of natural beauty and architecture. Paved trails leading towards the east and south lead back to their respective pathways, while the shadow of Tempest Spire looms ever-present towards the southeast. ---- In the basin this evening, the stars look down upon a young Freelander mage, slowly making his way to water's edge and looking down on the earth itself, with a thoughtful frown. A little way away, Varal Mikin sits in a pavillion, sharpening his sword. Varal drags a whetsone across his longsword, the scraping sound louder than the litany of complaints. Every so often he looks up and around, but does not seem particularly interested in anything beyond his sword. So. THere /are/ quite a few syladris about in the basin - doing what it is syladris /do/. Laughing. Working. Over there, a rather fetching female is apparently telling a story to two males who may or may not be interested in the tale, but certainly watch /her/ with wide-eyed, rapt expressions. One wildlander woman there? She's bartering with a male of the snake folk, it looks like, trading a bow for the shine of silver... jewlery, perhaps. And down from the direction of the Shrine /streaks/ one male, one with strawberry blonde hair and that distinctive red-yellow-black tail. Behind him, there is cursing, and laughter... and he's carrying... pants. Yes. Pants. For people. With legs. Sandrim pauses, looking up and over at the scraping of the whetstone (and the litany of complaints about it) and catches sight of the Mikin. "Lord-" he cuts off abruptly at the sound of the disturbance from the shrine and just blinks, dumbfounded. But not for long. "Aes!" he calls out. "What are you doing?" Varal looks up again, hearing the word Lord and then someone's name is shouted nearby. The Mikin frowns a moment, sliding his sword back into his baldric. There's a grunt as he rises, taking note of the status of the moon. He takes a very obvious interest in the Syladris that has enraptured Sandrim. That syladris there? He can /move/. Fast. Almost as fast as a horse, in fact - blasting down past and between the two with a merry whoop. He does answer, Sandrim, though - "I am ssstealing Marsssisss'sss pantsss!" As a question... get an answer. Behind him, up the hill, a tunic clad fellow .. and just a tunic... shouts, "Give those /back!/" Though he /is/ laughing, at least. Sandrim blinks. "Marsis?" he asks, before grinning and running off after the syladris. "Alright, you! Come on, give the man his pants back." He laughs as he does so. Varal looks between the Syladris and Sandrim, then at the pantless man. He quirks an eyebrow, but does not seem to find that much humor in the situation. He crosses his arms, silently watching for what might happen next. Well, the Syladris blasts by in a flash, heading down among the tents - apparently looking for a specific one. No. Not his. That's over /there/. Marsis, still laughing, if wholly embarrassed, pelts as best he can after Aes - "Light! Don't you /dare/, you grass viper!" Marsis's frinds, up by the Shrine? A pair of them, in fact - a wildlander woman and man, both are a bit too caught up in the snickering to do much more than lean on each other, laughing. Sandrim looks aside at Marsis as he runs through, tilting his head. "What's... he doing with your pants?" he asks the man with a grin, still keeping on the tail (figuratively) of the retreating syladris as best as he can. It's a pastoral day in the Basin. As usual, there's syladris and wildlanders - oh, it's a bit more tense than usual, what with the recent flying stone gargoyle-things and rumors of horrible Shadow curses.. but, in the end, life as it must goes on. So there is storytelling and trade, conversation and singing. There's Varal on a pavillion, and Sandrim just walking out into that grassy sward that leads down to the water, crunchy with autumn leaves. And there's a man with no pants running after a Syladris who has firmly outdistanced him, a syladris waving a pair of pants like a flag as he searches amongst the tents. One might suspect those last two are related, somehow. Griedan wanders into the Basin and comes to a halt, mouth opening and closing at the sight of Aeseyri making off with a pair of pants, being pursued by their obvious owner and Sandrim. A bizarre chuckle escapes from the man and he raises a glowing hand in an attempt to flag down the fleeing syladris. Marsis, panting, looks helplessly at Sandrim, faced flushed - "He's... *pant* ... going to give them to.. *pant* /her/." That thought seems a terrifyingly embarassing prospect. His friends laugh /louder/. Aesyri find whatever tent he's looking for with a merry crow - ... and abruptly throws it open, grins at who or whatever's inside, and throws the pants in. "Here!" And he takes off again, circling /well/ out of the way, as, from inside the tent, comes a startled - and rather feminine - "wha..." And then louder, calling, "why did he just throw /pants/ at me?" Sandrim stops in his tracks, gives Marsis a mock salute. "Good luck," he says, before turning to walk over to Aes. "Well, that was... different." Griedan shakes his head in disbelief and sighs, followed by a very amused laugh. His eyes seem almost glued to Aeseyri and he continues to wave to the male Syladris, trying to get his attention. Aes waves merrily to the glowing - and impossible to miss - Stonemason... but Sandrim? Sandrim gets a merry hug when he gets close enough to warrant one, a twisty-coily glomping that comes complete with a rather happy, if vaguely pleased with himself, laugh. "It isss bessst to watch, I think." And, with a wink, the Syladris disengages to move around a tent, heading back up toward the pavillions. Definitely, definitely pleased with himself. In his wake Marsis has managed to reach the tentflap, his tunic luckily mostly long enough to keep him decent in the absence of trousers. His face flaming, he says /something/ in to the resident. Up by the shrine, his friends move away, still laughing, heading back to what looks like their dinner. From along the western pathway comes a young woman, short and stocky. She wears her coarse blonde hair down and is dressed in white cotton; although not necessarily recognizable as a native, she seems at ease with the Syladris whose paths she crosses on her way to the wtaer's edge, amiably greeting those who can be found in the little ring-shaped glade. The crowd of laughing males is enough to draw her attention; she raises her eyebrows, gives a good-natured smirk and begins in that direction. Sandrim hugs the Syladris back, while he can, laughing to himself. "No," he disagrees. "It's best to run along, I think." He follows the syladris up toward the pavillions, taking slightly larger steps than usual to keep up. "So, what was that all about?" Griedan walks across the basin to approach Aeseyri, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I... jus' wan'ed t' tell yeh what that meh weddin' will b' goin' on 'ere at th' shrine t'night." he says to the Syladris. "Would like it ifn yeh showed up, meh friend." Arriving also from the east but a fair distance behind is the figure of an armored male, possibly Imperial but atleast human as he wanders into the Basin. His steps are light but easy, moving at a comfortable pace along the edge of the township. Oh, the male syladris would probably merrily answer Sandrim, there - but Griedan's prononuncement distracts him as firmly as waving a shiny imperial in front of a magpie. And with a delighted laugh, Aes flings himself at Griedan, "Thiss isss wonderful! Yesss, of courssse!" That 'flinging' involves what will be, if the fellow doesn't much move, a rather full-body hug, tail and arms included. ... call it overwhelming enthusiasm. Behind the trio, back at the tent? A feminine hand comes out and grabs Marsis's tunic... and drags him in. This 'announcement' also causes the blonde to abruptly turn on her heel; she walks away briskly, stepping over a tail or two in the meantime and heading back towards the western path. Sandrim smiles faintly, backing away. "Good luck, Griedan," he says, also starting to make his way away. "I suppose I'll be back at the inn, then. Take care." Griedan doesn't move out of the way and soon finds his armored self completely engulfed in naga. The freelander laughs and returns the hug, the force staggering him only just a bit. "Is... is uhm... Keiressssa around too?" he asks, tone almost nervous. Since Milora seems to be headed back in his direction, Norran quite easily takes notice of her. Her spares her a small grin, adjusting his direction to head toward her. "It seems you've taken to wander again. That was always the thing about this place: Boring. I'd have more fun if I joined the Blood Guard, but I doubt I could manage the commitment for long." Aes /does/ let him go, after a moment, laughing - "she isss ... sssomewhere. I can try to find her." He hmms, looking to Sandrim. "you are not going to the wedding-thing?" Mischeviously. "it givesss them permsssion to be naked in each othersss pressencsse." This is said informationally, as a point of pure explination. "Perhapsss they will do it there? It would be sssomething to ssee..." Sandrim turns and smirks at Aes. "No, they don't do that at the wedding itself," he says. "That comes after." He shrugs. "And, well, to be frank, I barely know bride or groom, and weddings have never been quite right with me." He shrugs. Griedan shakes his head at Aeseyri. "No, no." He says nervously. "Not what that I dunna wan' t' see 'er, but... well..." He shakes his head again. "Bes' ifn I dun righ' now." he says, and then starts off again. "Will b' back, aye. See yeh 'gain soon. Ifn yeh see 'er, though... well, tell 'er 'bout th' weddin'." Sighing softly, Milora nods her silent agreement. She stops in front of Norran, peering listeningly up at him. "Disappointed I've interrupted you? I can leave, if you'd prefer," offers Norran, peering at Milora as he raises his brow slightly. "Either way, our other companion was wondering where you were. I'm sure she's wandering, as well. Our missing freelanders do seem to have turned up here, en mass." Aeseyri grins after Griedan - "i will tell her, if I sssee her." Sandrim gets a nod, as he retreats - "It isss an interesssting cusstom. I do not underssstand it all, yet." And then the armored form and the woman next to it catch the naga's eye, and he blinks. Squinting a bit to peer at them, the silver on his horns glimmering in the dim. Sandrim stops in his retreat, listening to Griedan, before shrugging and walking back over to Aes. He looks at the naga's expression and raises an eyebrow. "What mischief is on your mind now?" Although she remains wordless, Milora's meaning ought to become clear momentarily. Rather than listen to her husband much further, she wraps her arms around his neck, wraps her legs round his waist, and gives him a full-on mouthkiss. Yes. Norran first doesn't really react, he just sort of stands there with his eyebrow still raised like it was before. He does, eventually, return the favor as far as the kiss goes, responding to his wife in kind for a few moments of enthusiasm. He does, however, eventually stop to look toward her a bit blinkingly. "You realize, of course, that we're in an open space? And I'm in my armor, which is doubly cruel. We'd be better off to continue this back at our room. While my armor's off. I'm sure this is fun for you, but torture was never quite my idea of fun. I wasn't from that particular branch of the family." His words may sounds reasonable, but his grin has widened to frightening proportions. The syladris grins, abruptly at Sandrim, and then winks.... and then sets off purposefully for Norran and Milora and that rather amazingly melty and intent kiss over there. It's like a /magnet/. A snake magnet. Oh, yes. As quick as he is, it doesn't take long to approach into merry conversational range, where Aes brightly points out, at the tail end of Norran's point - "my tent isss jussst over there.." with a vague wave... "but if you ussse it, I mussst insssissst on being allowed the choissse of watching." It's not at all serious, not in the slightest, as the naga moves to circle them, looking on appreciatively. "It /isss/ only fair." Sandrim gives Aeseyri a look of horror as he follows the syladris from behind, eyes wide. "I... don't think that's appropriate to ask them, Aes," he says rather swiftly, bowing his head toward the Duke and Duchess. "It's... well... I'd let them go elsewhere." Milora gives Norran a dark (but in no way negative) look, grinning before sliding off of him and landing gracefully on the ground. She keeps her arms around his neck, however, smirking fondly up at him until they two are interrupted by a third party. She gives the naga a smile and a half-inclination of the head, and then a small giggle. "Unfortunately for you, sir, /I/ do not come from /that/ particular branch of the family." She winks at Norran, stepping away and bowing lightly to the Syladris. "There is something intensely liberating about being freed from all rights and responsibilities," she says in a low voice, turning back to Norran to stroke his cheeck and neck with a few well-manicured fingernails. "Well, I do not know, Norran," she continues simply. "Does our marriage remain legit in Crown's Refuge? I would hate for you to make an indecent woman out of me." Norran eyes the Syaldris suspiciously, merely shaking his head 'no' in response before looking back to Milora. Snickering, he shakes his head to her as well. "My title may have no meaning here, but vows before the Light do not fade so easily. You'll have to travel a lot farther to rid yourself of me, beloved." Before he's finished speaking, however, he's already departing toward the east, nearly dragging Milora along with him. ---- Return to Season 6 (2007) Category:Logs